Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(76)

I couldn’t go back inside. I couldn’t see him like that again.

I ran up the dock and I was halfway up the stone steps when I heard the muffle of another shot.





THIRTY-SEVEN


I rest when I reach the Bluffs. I cannot leave this island and not pay homage to this beautiful place. I have never been a religious person, but the Bluffs have been my church. I made my confession here, alone and utterly repentant, the first time I came, the day I began my jars of stones.

I stare up at the shadows and notice now that the sky is brightening. Streaks of light have begun to paint the sky above the dark water. I think about my brushes and canvas and try to imprint this image in my memory, if I ever get a chance to paint again. Veronica would love this painting. She would gesture wildly with her hands as she enthusiastically told a customer about how I saw this scene the night I was escaping the island.

Veronica. And Jeanine. I never had women friends before, not really. There were some girlfriends in school, but they didn’t understand me, didn’t understand my obsession with the computers. I sequestered myself in the chat rooms, becoming friends with people who hid behind their monikers like me, secretly entering places we shouldn’t and bragging to each other about it.

I will miss my friends, and soon they will know the truth about me, so it is probably good that I will be gone before they find out. I don’t think I could handle their reactions and disappointment.

I don’t allow myself to think about Steve anymore. Despite his protests, he will move on and find someone else to hang out with on Friday nights and play Scrabble with.

I resume my trek. Once or twice I hear sirens, sense the slow-moving cars with their headlights trained along the sides of the roads, hoping to catch me. But so far I see no one as I climb over rocks, clutching my duffel bag. I drop it once and for a second wonder if I could leave it here. I could probably get to New York with just what’s in the backpack. But I won’t be able to pay for the documents and I don’t want to stay in the city. I am too much an island girl now. I crave peace and quiet, and even though it would be easier to hide there, I can’t stand the thought of it. I haven’t figured on where to go, but I’ll know it when I get there.

By the time I reach what I’ve always thought of as my beach, the beach where I’ve done my painting just below my house, the sun has started to come up. I still have a little time before the ferry leaves. I have to plan it just right, when I get on the ferry. I can’t risk Frank Cooper stopping it. Granted, if he figures out I’m on the ferry, then he can easily have someone waiting on the other side, in Point Judith, to take me into custody. But I have had hours to formulate a plan, and I think it will work.

This beach is a good one because you can’t see anyone on the beach from the road. I take a seat on the sand and pull my laptop out of the backpack. I am close enough to houses that have wireless Internet that it’s easy to get online. Soon I have logged into my VPN and quickly go to the websites for the different charter airlines that fly out of Block Island. I make a reservation on one of the flights that leaves in an hour and a half. I make the reservation in the name of Tina Adler. I pay for it using Paul Michaels’s credit card number.

This might not keep Frank Cooper and the FBI from checking out the ferry, but they will have to go the airport at the same time the first ferry leaves the island, just in case this reservation is real. I can only hope that luck will be on my side, and I can get on the ferry and hide and somehow make it to the mainland without getting caught.

While I am sitting here, I think about what Ian said about Amelie Renaud. How I hadn’t done a thorough search on her. I have all of her pertinent information, like an address and credit card number and Social Security number. Things I couldn’t find with a simple search. But I have missed something, so that is what I do. A simple search.

And within seconds, I see it. I see what Amelie’s role has been in everything.

Amelie’s entire career has been with the bank. She rose through the ranks from customer service representative, more than fifteen years ago, and is now the bank’s Paris branch manager.

She is the one who gave Ian the account numbers, I am sure of it. I know all too well how persuasive Ian can be when a girl is in love with him. She gave him the numbers, and then he married her.

I see that her husband is an American named Roger Parker, the name on the account Ian gave me. The account he wanted me to transfer the money to. Ian still doesn’t realize how much information I can find online if I’m motivated enough.

In a photograph, Ian stands with his arms around Amelie and their two children; they look happy.

I close down the laptop. It is time to go.

As I approach, I see Old Harbor is a ghost town. There are a couple of cars on the roads, and when I look up the hill toward my house, I see a police car parked outside.

The ferry is sitting at the dock, bobbing up and down. I don’t see anyone on it; but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. Even though I’ve never taken the ferry to the mainland, when I first came to the island I got into the habit of watching them, just in case a situation like today’s arose.

The one thing I am afraid of is that the police are lurking somewhere. It dawns on me that if Ian is working with them he will tell them I have a duffel bag. He does not know I still have the backpack.

I settle down on the sand and wonder how much more cash I can fit into the backpack. I end up taking out some of the towels to make room and manage to get quite a bit inside. Enough for my documents and then some. I look longingly at the cash I have to leave behind, but I have no choice. Some lucky beachcomber will find it and feel that he has struck it rich. It is my good deed of the day.